the war is on the kitchen table

    the war is on the kitchen table
    the war is on the kitchen table
    waiting to be read,
    I brew the coffee black as buildings,
    charred, collapsed,
    I load the toast with butter,
    chew my way through cluster bombs,
    smear raspberry jam on screaming headlines
    which do not disappear
    I flip the page to guaranteed results:
    hockey scores, ice dance competitions,
    there the gains and losses
    line up in soldierly columns,
    no wavering parades of souls,
    filing down disfigured roads,
    walking, falling, left behind,
    long after the page is closed